


fixed assets

by thunderylee



Category: Kis-My-Ft2 (Band)
Genre: Ass Kink, Canon Universe, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-20
Updated: 2012-11-20
Packaged: 2019-01-18 06:58:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12383196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thunderylee/pseuds/thunderylee
Summary: Miyata has a fixation.





	fixed assets

**Author's Note:**

> reposted from agck. written for kink bingo (bodies and body parts).

Sometimes—well, most of the time—Miyata doesn’t much mind being in the back. As much as he thinks they _all_ deserve to be in the front, he can’t argue that he has the best view in the house. Now that Fujigaya’s hair is short, Miyata can see the back of his neck and the thin gold chain usually accompanied by a shiny layer of sweat depending on the complexity of the routine. While Tamamori’s gorgeous from every angle (though Miyata might be biased), the shape of his back is especially appealing, clothed or not. But above all else, Miyata’s eyes are drawn much lower, to the back end of one Kitayama Hiromitsu.

Not even girls have as much ass as Kitayama. It goes unappreciated, Miyata thinks, because he’s so short. People don’t make the effort to look that far down. If he keeps going, he’ll find thick thighs that _still_ remain from soccer training despite the good number of years it’s been since he’s last competed. Miyata’s hands twitch with the burning desire to touch, squeezing whatever he can reach and feeling those muscles firm under his fingers, but that would probably ruin the performance.

Instead Miyata channels it into energy, popping a little sharper and rolling a little harder. Dancing is like a release for his frustration, at least for the time being. Unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on how you look at it), there are plenty of other opportunities for Kitayama’s ass to affect him, like when he bends over in the dressing room to rummage around in his bag. Miyata figures that short people don’t bother to bend their knees.

“You are fooling absolutely no one,” Tamamori tells him, hissing in that low, annoyed voice that Miyata adores, and Miyata doesn’t even bother to avert his eyes. “Go ask him out already. Watching you drool like this is embarrassing.”

Miyata brings his hand to his mouth in panic, but it had just been a metaphor. He wouldn’t have been surprised, though. “I don’t want to go out with him,” he protests.

“Go inside him, whatever.” Out of the corner of his eye, Miyata can see Tamamori making a face. “I don’t need to know all the details.”

“I still love Tama-chan the best,” Miyata says, laying his head on Tamamori’s shoulder without removing his eyes from the prize, which has since stood up and halfway turned around as he accuses everyone in the room of taking something or another of his.

Tamamori shrugs off Miyata, but Miyata won’t budge and as usual Tamamori gives up fighting and just sighs. “I think Miyacchi took it,” Tamamori offers, and Miyata blinks himself back to reality as he’s thrown under the bus by his favorite person in the world.

The bus comes barrelling toward him, stopping right in front of his chair and Miyata’s never seen Kitayama’s face this scary before—at least intentionally. “I don’t know what he’s talking about,” Miyata says quickly. “I don’t even know what you’re looking for.”

Tamamori’s shoulder shakes with silent laughter, the bastard, and Kitayama glares even harder. “You were staring _right at me_ , Miyacchi. You are a horrible liar.”

“I think it’s in his pocket,” Tamamori goes on. “One of the front ones.”

All Miyata can do is gape as Kitayama shoves his hands right into the front pockets of Miyata’s jeans, exploring a little too much for Miyata’s comfort. Usually he can control himself—he’s not a teenager anymore, for fuck’s sake—but Kitayama’s deliciously tight pants combined with wandering hands is more than Miyata’s hormones can take.

He cringes when Kitayama bumps the beginning of his erection, both of them pausing as Miyata gets even harder and barely manages to hold back his gasp. Slowly Kitayama pulls his hands away, their eyes meeting briefly before Miyata’s drop straight to the floor, sufficiently humiliated even if they were the only two who know. Well, Tamamori probably knew, but he doesn’t count.

“Come help me look for it,” Kitayama demands, grabbing Miyata by the arm and yanking him out of the room so fast that he’s confident nobody had a chance to notice anything odd about him. Odder than usual, anyway, he amends as Kitayama finds the first empty practice room and kicks out the juniors who has been hiding in there to look at porn mags.

The second the door is closed, Kitayama’s hand unapologetically gropes him right between the legs and Miyata’s eyes widen. “Really, Miyacchi?” he asks, half taunting and half surprised.

“I’m sorry,” Miyata squeaks out, biting back a moan as Kitayama gives him a hard squeeze. “I shouldn’t think about you like that, it’s creepy and wrong and disrespectful, but I can’t stop looking at your…”

Kitayama raises his eyebrows and shakes his head impatiently. “My what?”

“Your _ass_ ,” Miyata finally explodes, his body automatically pushing into the friction Kitayama’s still creating, now all the way hard and then some. “Your goddamn tight pants don’t help any, and then you bent over—I am only a man, okay.”

“Yeah?” Kitayama replies, and now he’s definitely taunting, slow strokes of Miyata’s cock through his fly as he smirks up at him. “A man would go after what he wants instead of just staring, you know.”

“I didn’t think you would—” Miyata starts, cut off as Kitayama pops the button on Miyata’s jeans and wraps warm, rough fingers around him, and this time Miyata is incapable of holding in his appreciative noises.

“Clearly I would,” Kitayama says, his eyes challenging. “So now the question is whether you can hold me up or not.”

“Hold you…” Miyata trails off as he realizes what Kitayama means. Normally Miyata is the least dominant person on the planet, but something about Kitayama’s words has blood rushing hotly through his veins, arousal building up and the next second has Kitayama flat against the wall, where Miyata grabs fistfuls of his ass and lifts him up until Kitayama’s legs can wrap easily around his waist.

“I’m impressed,” Kitayama says, his voice about an octave deeper than normal, and his words go right into Miyata’s open pants where Kitayama’s still touching him. He chuckles as Miyata uses his weight to pin Kitayama to the wall, leaving his hands free to feel all the way down Kitayama’s hamstrings and back up to his ass. Kitayama thumbs the head of Miyata’s cock and Miyata grabs onto him more tightly, struggling to keep himself composed as Kitayama adds, “But do you know what to do with it?”

Miyata feels even hotter at the implication. “Here?”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Kitayama adds, dragging his lips along Miyata’s neck and speaking into his skin. “I don’t think you can make it back to my place.”

“I’m not going to make it at all if you keep doing that,” Miyata tells him, unable to hold back the moans that escape with each labored breath.

“Damn, you weren’t kidding,” Kitayama says, pressing his own pleased noises into Miyata’s throat as Miyata continues to grope him. “Do you have an ass fetish or something?”

“Not really,” Miyata pants. “Just yours.”

“Even better.”

Kitayama kisses his way up Miyata’s jaw and then Miyata feels lips against his, which are pried open by a hot tongue and Miyata’s head spins from the combination of everything that feels so, so good. Kitayama kisses just as hard as he flicks his wrist back and forth, using his other hand to rub Miyata’s tight balls while Miyata grinds him into the wall, quickly reaching his limit.

“Mitsu—” Miyata tries to protest, but it’s too late and his groan dies on Kitayama’s tongue as he comes hard over Kitayama’s fingers, hands gripping both cheeks of Kitayama’s ass. Miraculously he remains upright, though Kitayama’s legs slip from his hold and they both end up slumped against the wall, Miyata leaning against Kitayama as he struggles to catch his breath.

“Do you feel better now?” Kitayama asks casually, like he’d just done something innocent to help Miyata calm down instead of jerking him off in an empty practice room at _work_.

“Much,” Miyata says, then feels sheepish as Kitayama nudges him away enough pull off the topmost of his three shirts that had apparently caught most of Miyata’s release. “Ah, sorry.”

“It’s cool,” Kitayama says. “This is Fujigaya’s shirt, anyway.”

Miyata blinks, deciding to focus on something other than the implication of that statement. “So do you want me to return the favor, or…?”

“Later.” Kitayama flashes a dirty grin. “You haven’t had enough already, have you?”

In response, Miyata reaches down and gives Kitayama’s ass a firm squeeze, feeling that rush of arousal again way before he’s ready. “Not at all.”

“Good,” Kitayama says, finding his way back against the wall as he leans up for another kiss. This one is teasing, promising of what’s to come, and Miyata’s mind is still lost when Kitayama whispers, “because I haven’t quite found what I was looking for yet.”


End file.
